Church WhatsApp Group

Ezi didn’t sleep that night.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Sister Divine’s smile. That small, victorious one. Not the holy one she showed the church. The real one.

Obi came back from the front after almost one hour. He smelled of anointing oil and sweat. He didn’t say much, just muttered “The prayer was powerful” and entered the bathroom. When he came out, he slept with his back turned to her for the first time in their marriage.

By Monday morning, the prophecy had already grown wings.

Ezi was in the kitchen making tea when her phone started buzzing like market women fighting over price. The RCCG Victory Zone WhatsApp group was on fire.

Aunty Peace (Women’s Coordinator):
Brethren, yesterday’s service was too hot 🔥🔥 Prophetess Divine nailed it again. That spirit of delay must die!

Deacon Titus:
My brother, if na you, better run to her for personal deliverance o. I hear say she dey book appointment fast.

Sis. Ronke:
Some women are the reason their husbands are not shining. They will be forming strong head instead of submitting. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Ezi’s hands started shaking. She scrolled up and saw the voice note someone had forwarded. It was the exact moment Sister Divine pointed toward their row.

She played it. Twice.

Obi walked in, already dressed for work. “Babe, you don see the group?”

She just looked at him.

He scratched his head. “It’s not what you think. The prophetess was only saying what God showed her. We need to fight this thing spiritually.”

“Obi, how did she know about my scar? And the stout?”

He avoided her eyes. “The Holy Spirit reveals things, Ezi. Stop doubting.”

Her mother called before she could reply. Mama Nneka didn’t even greet.

“Ezinne, I have heard what happened. Pack small clothes. We are going for deliverance this weekend. I have spoken to one strong man of God in Ojo. No time for pride.”

“Mama, it’s not—”

“Don’t ‘Mama’ me! You want your husband to leave you? You want another woman to come and reap where you have suffered? Nne, wake up!”

Ezi ended the call and stared at the ceiling. Her eyes were hot but no tears came. Not yet.

At the office in Victoria Island, things were even worse.

As she walked to her cubicle, some colleagues suddenly became very interested in their laptops. Others gave her that pity smile — the one they used for people whose marriages were about to scatter.

Her colleague Tosin, the fine boy from Accounts who had been asking her out before she got married, stopped by her desk.

“Ezi, you good?” His voice was low. “I saw the video. That church matter… people dey talk.”

“What are they saying?”

Tosin shrugged. “Some are saying maybe… you know. Spiritual something. But me, I don’t believe. You’re too fine to be anybody’s problem.”

Ezi forced a laugh. “Thank you, Tosin.”

He lingered small. “If you need to talk… or even pray different style, I’m here.”

She nodded and turned back to her screen. But her mind wasn’t on the marketing campaign she was supposed to finish. It was on Obi.

During lunch, she did what every desperate wife does — she checked his phone.

They had the password thing. Trust, they called it. But today, trust was on leave.

She opened his WhatsApp.

The chat with “Prophetess Divine” was pinned.

Her heart almost stopped.

Sister Divine:
My brother, the Lord is fighting for you. But you need consistent prayers. The spirit is stubborn. Come for personal session this Wednesday. 8pm.

Obi:
Thank you ma. I will come. God bless you. Please pray for me and my wife.

Sister Divine:
Your wife? My brother, sometimes we have to fight alone first. The Lord is saying something about separation for a season so you can receive your full blessing. I will explain better when you come.

Ezi’s chest felt tight. Personal session? At night?

She scrolled further back. The chats went back three months. Before the first public prophecy. Obi had been seeing her privately. Sending prayer requests. Sending money for “anointing oil” and “mantle.”

₦150,000 two weeks ago.
₦75,000 last month.
Another ₦200,000 just yesterday — labelled “Special deliverance seed.”

Her own husband. The same man who complained when NEPA took light and they had to buy fuel. The same man who said they were saving for IVF.

Ezi sat there in the office toilet cubicle, phone in hand, trying not to scream.

Her phone rang again. Mama Nneka.

This time, Ezi picked.

“Mama… I saw the chats.”

Her mother didn’t sound surprised. “Good. Now you are waking up. But listen to me, my daughter. Do not confront him yet. Men like this, when you chase them, they run into the devil’s arms faster. We will fight fire with fire. I have one woman who knows what to do.”

Ezi closed her eyes. “Mama, I’m tired.”

“No, you are not tired. You are a wife. Fight for your home!”

When she got home that evening, Obi was already back. He was humming and making garri. Acting like everything was normal.

She wanted to shout. She wanted to throw the phone at him. Instead, she just asked quietly:

“Obi, when did you start seeing Sister Divine for personal counselling?”

He froze for a second, then continued stirring the soup.

“It’s not what you think, Ezi. She has been helping me pray for our breakthrough. For you too.”

She brought out her phone and showed him the transfer alerts.

Obi’s face changed. Not guilt exactly. Something closer to irritation.

“So you went through my phone? After all the trust?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

He sighed like a man carrying the whole world. “Ezi, you won’t understand. Some battles are not fought with ordinary eyes.”

At that moment, her phone buzzed again. Another forward from the church group. This time it was a photo — Sister Divine and Obi kneeling together during the vigil, her hands on his head, his eyes closed in deep prayer.

The caption: When deliverance is serious 🔥

Ezi looked at her husband. The man she had built her life with. The man who used to call her “my crown.”

He was already picking up his car key.

“Where are you going?”

“Prayer meeting,” he said without looking back. “Don’t wait up.”

The door closed behind him.

Ezi stood in their sitting room, the weight of the prophecy, the chats, the transfers, and that picture pressing down on her chest.

For the first time, she whispered to herself:

“What if she is right? What if I am actually the problem?”

But another voice, smaller and angrier, replied:

“Or what if she is the problem… and my own husband is paying her to become one?”

To be continued…